


Decorum

by septmars



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Clothing Kink, F/M, Historical Dress, Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2018-02-09
Packaged: 2019-03-15 19:25:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13620090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/septmars/pseuds/septmars
Summary: Hungary takes Austria to sample the waters of Hévíz.





	Decorum

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Allekha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allekha/gifts).



> Happy Valentine's Day!

“No.”

“But why?” Hungary asked, tilting his head. “I promise, the water is not at all that hot.”

“Well, uh.” Austria pulled at his cravat. His valet would not be pleased that Austria ruined his beautiful creation. “I didn’t bring my bathing suit.”

Hungary laughed, a rich musical sound. It was not very appropriate for ladies to laugh like that at court, but Austria never cared much. He always liked Hungary’s laugh.

“We won’t be wearing bathing suit, you silly goose,” she said. “We’ll be going in nude.”

“We won’t be going in nude!” Austria sputtered. “This is a public place!”

“I assure you, dear, that this room is quite private. The staffs have been given strict orders not to disturb us unless called for. The door is bolted from the inside. Nobody will accidentally see us in our naked state.”

“But it is still quite inappropriate.” Austria pushed his glasses up, to better hide his beet-red face.

“Is it inappropriate for a husband to see his wife naked?”

“It’s the afternoon,” Austria mumbled, almost indistinctly.

Hungary grinned, wrapping her arms around him. She raised her mouth to his ear. “You had no complaints last week. That was also in the afternoon.”

Austria let out a strangled noise. Hungary kissed him lightly in the cheek as a reply.

“Alright,” Austria relented. “Let’s go take the waters.”

Hungary smiled. She stepped back, motioning for Austria to help with her dress. Austria removed her spencer first. It was the cashmere one, a gift from France given during the Congress. The red colour contrasted nicely with the green ribbon tied around her bodice and the wool was ludicrously soft, almost like silk. Austria made a mental note to assess the viability of keeping some cashmere goats in Vienna.

Next was the gown. Although they were in Hévíz—her territory—she wore a gown _a la grecque_ cut in the Viennese style. Hungary was a fierce, proud woman, but even she acknowledged that the tight bodice of her national dress and the long stays required to maintain that silhouette would be impractical for daywear. A Grecian gown, with its high bodice and voluminous waistline, was much simpler and easier to wear, since it only required loosely-laced short stays to support the bodice.

The dress’s white silk was smooth to touch and glided easily in his hands. Though she had forgone her usual national dress for a more urban one, there were still traces of provinciality in the colourful embroidered flowers snaking around her sleeves and her bodice. The hem of her skirt was openwork and cut tantalizingly short, revealing her lace-edged petticoat and her pale-green slippers. Austria crouched and took her skirt, deliberately brushing his hand against her stockinged leg. Hungary raised her arms and he pulled the gown over her head.

She’s now down to her shift. Austria crouched again, pulling at the ribbons on her slippers. Hungary always disliked pinched heeled shoes, only wearing it at court and when absolutely required. She practically sighed in relief when Paris pronounced high-heels were too aristocratic to be fashionable and that flats were _en vogue_ now, because it meant she could wear slippers to court without being subjected to a lecture from Maria Theresa and her ladies.

Austria removed Hungary’s chemise next. It was made out of stiff muslin, plain, practical, and coarse from copious scrubbing. Her petticoat was also made out of muslin, but more elaborate. The fashionable thing to do nowadays was for ladies to show a hint of petticoat. Thus, their design became more outlandish day after day. Hungary’s petticoat was edged with blonde lace and flower-knots, yet it could still be considered modest compared to what others wore. Yesterday, Austria saw a grand dame wearing a petticoat with pink satin frills, Chantilly lace, and braids.

He turned Hungary around and began pulling at ribbons and knots on the petticoat. Taking off petticoats were his favourite part of undressing a woman. An inelegant man would just paw and tear impatiently, ruining the fabric and the lady’s mood. Like playing the pianoforte, loosening the petticoat required skill and a deft hand, and Austria was adept at both.

With her petticoat off, Hungary was now only in her stays, drawers, and stockings. He chose the stays first. They were short, practical, and comfortable. A vast improvement from the restricting corsets of three decades ago. The French Revolution did have its perks.

Austria took his time with her stockings. Brushing his knuckles against her covered legs. Slowly pulling each garter down. And lastly, her drawers. A short tug, and she was bare as the day she was born.

No matter how many times he had seen her naked, he still couldn’t supress the gasp that escaped his lips. She was beautiful. A masterpiece. Hard body, supple skin. Pink and cream mixed as one.

“Now it’s your turn,” Hungary said, pulling at his _mente_.

Austria had gone on court business this afternoon and had to wear a gala dress. He would wear his uniform normally, but Franz Joseph had written the previous week, encouraging him to express more ‘Hungarian’ spirit. So today, he went out in a dolman and _mente_. They were much too provincial for his taste, but Hungary had been so excited. She even laid out his clothes herself.

It helped that Hungary had excellent taste in men’s fashion. His _mente_ was dark blue velvet, very soft. It was trimmed with mink for warmth, seeing that they were now well into autumn. Hungary opened the gold buttons one by one. A more fashionable man would slung his _mente_ over his shoulders, unbuttoned, but Austria had already suffered the indignities of being deemed provincial; he did not need the additional humiliation of being fashionable.

The _mente_ was gone, leaving his dolman. It was cream-coloured silk brocade, lavishly embroidered with snaking vines and trimmed with gold braids. It fitted snugly at his waist, before flaring into its trademark silhouette. Hungary unfastened the dolman’s gold frogging to reveal his plain undershirt. Austria raised his hands and Hungary pulled the shirt over his head.

She paused for a few moments, taking in the sight of his naked torso. Austria caught her eyes, and she smiled deviously in response. Saying nothing, her hands moved to his pants. They were, much to his distress, pantaloons. Dark blue pantaloons. A Weston. Quite fashionable.

Austria had them made on his last visit to London at Hungary’s insistence. She was quite delighted when tight-fitting pantaloons became popular amongst men, proclaiming that they would better show the male shape. She tried to convince Austria to abandon his breeches, saying that pantaloons made his legs look leaner, but he was not convinced. Tight pantaloons a la Brummell would necessitate him forgoing drawers, something Austria was not prepared to do. Only on occasions such as these would Hungary have her way.

She took her time in unfastening the pantaloons, clearly enjoying herself. After some agonizingly slow minutes, she finally took off his pants. Austria discarded his shoes, and Hungary moved to his stockings. They were, to Austria’s relief, very white and very proper. Nothing fashionable about them. Just plain old white stockings. Without the tight pantaloons holding them in place, they came off easily.

With both of them in the nude, they stepped into the pool. The water was hot, but not scorching. Whether it was the temperature or because of the minerals, Austria could feel his whole body relaxing. No wonder the Romans constructed so many of these. They were positively decadent.

“Enjoying yourself?” Hungary asked, scooting closer to him. She placed a hand on Austria’s thigh but he did not seem to notice.

Austria hummed his reply. Too busy feeling good to form a coherent sentence.

“It’s great, isn’t it?” Hungary smiled, slowly moving her hand up his thigh. “Although I know a way to make it all even better.”

Austria looked sternly at her hand on his thigh. “ _No,_ ” he said.

“Why not? The Romans did it. Very often, in fact.”

“We are not the Romans. It would be unhygienic for the patrons that come after us.”

“This is a _luxury_ thermal spa. They usually change the waters after every patron comes in. Besides, if you think nowadays nobody has ever had sex in a thermal spa, you will be quite mistaken.”

Austria tried to look stern and disapproving, but it was hard with Hungary’s hand so close to his sex. Finally, he relented.

“Alright,” he grumbled.

Hungary laughed and kissed him on the mouth.

“I know you’d be amenable,” she said, straddling him.

**Author's Note:**

> All of the pretty descriptions of clothes were based on and inspired from _The Imperial Style: Fashions of the Habsburg Era_ , published by the Metropolitan Museum of Art and available for free PDF download [here](https://www.metmuseum.org/art/metpublications/The_Imperial_Style_Fashions_of_the_Hapsburg_Era)
> 
> Sadly, I wasn't able to gain much English information about the hot springs habit of 19th century Hungarians, so I have taken a lot of artistic liberties here. Hévíz, at least based on what I gleaned from Wikipedia, had been known for its thermal spa since the Roman era. In 18th century, the Festetics family did some research on the healing properties of the waters and the spa culture there developed significantly. I imagine by the time of the Congress of Vienna, Hévíz is well-known for their thermal spa.


End file.
